


Art - A Dark Legends Chapter 3 Story

by Tarchannon



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarchannon/pseuds/Tarchannon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A plague visits the House of Xavier bringing death and dark changes. Charles and Ororo                    seek that which they have lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Art - A Dark Legends Chapter 3 Story

**Author's Note:**

> 1) “_” contains spoken dialog, /_/ contains thoughts, *_* contains mental communication.  
> 2) This Ororo is Kenyan and speaks some words in Swahili. These words and their definitions follow the piece to avoid spoiling plot elements.  
> 3) Akasha and Marco and are my OCs.  
> 4) Thanks to Amy Lou for the bunny lines. I put them to good use, and got them  
> out of your head!  
> 5) Originally posted: 06/20/02.

* * *  
High above, in her small penthouse atop the staff wing of the Academy, Ororo stood, hands unconsciously clawed, gripping the stone railing. She was lost, another barely noticed hour of another long New England night spent standing on the balcony, staring blankly over the fields and trees into the distance, eyes forever white now. She barely slept after the metamorphosis, both fueled and enraptured by her new state of being.

Since her recovery, she had known that she was different - so _very_ different - she could barely recall the reason she existed before. The trappings of her life – her friendships, her studies, her prized plants, her collection of original African art, her weaving – had all fallen away, seeming small and unimportant now.

“The Goddess embraced me,” she murmured over and over to herself like a mantra, breath visible in the chill she unconsciously generated about herself though the night was warm.

She could feel the weave - the colors, the textures, the iridescence. She was enmeshed, but she was above, soaring bird-like over the tapestry that was the physical world. A technicolor patchwork of ever changing, pulsing, glittering threads. It drew her away, the colors, the patterns – the edge of a cloud, the tumbling of a boulder down the mountainside. Everything was there, every boulder, every wave, every breeze and fire. Every non-living thing on the planet was hers to behold in minute detail, each woven into the other in a seamless pattern. But, she, _she_ was not merely restricted to merely seeing the tapestry of life, she could change it with a thought, pulling threads like Atropos spinning fate. A power beyond compare, without an equal. 

But the tapestry was an inhuman place, sterile, lonely, intricate patterns of inorganic energy. She felt the emptiness, the cold. It drew her in, and unconsciously her world mirrored her mind. The stone was wintry under her fingers. She felt the essential warmth of herself slowly trickling away, and had felt it for some time. But the ability to affect that was beyond her power, even now. 

Annoyed, frightened, and frustrated, the Goddess screamed into the night, a cold, inhuman, terrifying sound. Lightning launched upward into a cloudless sky. 

Untethered, released, she had begun to drift.

* * *  
There were nothing, but they were everything.

He was adrift on a sea of stars in a vast darkness, the tiny brilliant lights seductive, colored unique. But the spaces were achingly empty. 

His mind wandered across the astral universe, with only the faint creak of the leather of his chair or the insistent need of his physical body to remind him to return. He could travel so far now, far enough to get lost.

No longer were the stars singular entities. Though he could reach out to one, hearing it’s song - sometimes shrill and sometimes melodic – it was rare to juts have one in his mind. He heard constellations, galaxies. A symphony of cacophony that was both stunningly beautiful and awesomely terrifying. It played in his head constantly now, even his formidable shielding inadequate to block them out for long periods of time. When not immediately engaged in the real world, he caught himself drifting on the cacophony of life. 

He knew that his new powers were too much, that the changes that the virus had made were dangerous for even someone with his control, but once he heard the music – the marriage of Cage and Glass and Mozart – he could not imagine it’s absence. He could not fathom how he existed before. Even using Cerebro didn’t touch the experience. It was limited, filtered, artificial, small in comparison. 

His sensory perception of humans had become acute, but thankfully his involuntary perception of mutants hadn’t been altered very much. Though he could hear the collective humanity nearly all the time, he had to focus like before to read his children. But his ability to produce prodigious psychic force was universal. He hadn’t been able to resist testing his range and his power, using both humans and his children as test subjects. On one level he knew he shouldn’t be doing it, especially without permission, but he couldn’t help but think it was for the best in the long run.

After all, they were going to come again, and probably soon – if not the Friends of Humanity, then another group. The attack Eric had predicted was virtually certain to come – the fear and the hate was a prominent theme in the music. If the humanized Legend Virus returned to the US, the attack would come, probably within hours of the announcement in the press.

Preparations were underway, mutants being gathered, and for now he could wait. The music lulled him away, adrift among the stars, and Charles sat in the leather high-backed chair at his desk, staring off into the distance, solitary but never alone now. 

Never alone. 

* * *  
Charles floated out into the entry hall. With his newly awakened telekinetic power, he could have ‘walked’ but it was far less trouble to fly. Though his current TK abilities were inferior to those Jean had developed before the virus, they were still a formidable addition to his abilities.

Three new mutants had arrived to join the cause, and Charles wanted to meet them in person. Actually, to _impress_ them in person. Though he already had a tough subcommander in the new Scott, and an effective drill sergeant in Logan, a taste of the power at the top was always the most effective tool of obedience he had found over the years. 

Of the three, two had been recruited. Akasha Williams, an African American woman of 22, had the ability to warp space. All indications suggested that training would allow her to create portals, as well as provide defensive shielding from most weapons. Marco DeLaria, a 20 year old Italian, had the ability to assume a fluidic form. He thought that their abilities would be extremely useful. 

The third recruit, twenty-nine year old Acadian Remy LeBeau, had been sent by his father, a notorious underworld figure. He was a world-class thief, had exceptional nightvision and agility, was a trained warrior, and had a energy conversion mutation that allowed small objects to become explosive weapons. 

/Potentially very useful,/ Charles thought as he passed though the door. /But his fortuitous arrival is suspicious./

Scott was pacing up and down in front of the three new recruits, explaining in no uncertain terms about what would be expected of them. All three stood uncomfortably but calmly, not quite looking at Cyclops as he paced. He was acting rather like Wolverine, Xavier noted. 

Charles cleared his throat, mentally clamping down on the psychic music that overwhelmed him at times.

Scott stopped immediately, nearly snapping to attention. Looking to Charles, Scott Summers introduced their leader, revealing just a hint of the seething anger under his steely control. “I would like you to meet our commander, Charles Xavier.”

Three pairs of eyes turned and watched as Charles floated around to face them. He looked at each in turn, briefly scanning them. He nodded at Akasha, then Marco, finding them suitable and genuine in their interest. 

Suddenly, in the back of his mind he felt a strong presence. Distracted, he turned his mind away for a moment. Ororo was coming, and she was coming for him. The emotions and the power were rolling off her in waves. 

He turned his attention back to the other recruit, trying to finish before Ororo descended. He sent his mind toward Remy LeBeau. 

/Curious,/ he thought. The Cajun’s mind rippled like a drop of water in the wind, deflecting his probe. He opened his mouth to speak. 

Then she was there, projecting directly to his mind. Her intentions were clear and so powerful. He turned in space to look at her, a dusky midnight goddess in pale gray. Her eyes smoldered, electricity palpable in the air. Her projections were making him hard, and the offer she presented was just possibly too good to be denied. 

*A moment,* he sent to her, hoping that she would take no offense. Though he could take her, he wouldn’t want to ruin such a valuable asset.

Charles turned back to the new recruits, the Cajun in particular noting their interaction with great interest. He felt Ororo’s impatience building very quickly.

“I am pleased to meet you,” Charles told them as warmly as he could muster, his distraction bleeding through. “I hope your time with us will be productive. Now, if you will excuse me…”

Charles turned back to Ororo, who’s color was rapidly darkening with displeasure. Tiny sparks were crackling about her, causing her long white hair to undulate wildly behind her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the smile that played on the Cajun’s lips.

/I have to watch that one,/ he thought to himself as he willed himself to move to her side.

Floating quickly up the stairs, he joined his Goddess for the ascent to her temple, having already decided to accept her wicked offer. 

* * *  
/I will not beg. Will. Not. Beg. Goddesses do not beg./  
Ororo knew this, yet Charles sat across the room sending phantom touches along her body and waiting for her to do just that.  
She had known that she was slipping, less human every night, and it frightened her. She had considered her options all night, and when dawn had come, she had made her decision. There really was no other choice – the Goddess had to take a consort, and only one was a suitable match.  
So she had chosen to present him with a offer he couldn’t refuse. A partnership, a merging with her nearest equal, the coupling of mind, flesh, and power. The taming of the only one that could stop her from doing whatever she chose.  
He had accepted as she knew he would – her flesh was still alluring and her power an aphrodisiac to one such as him. He was both more and less than he was, but still experienced and powerful – and unbalanced as was she.  
Together they could be unstoppable. Together they would be complete.  
Now she stood, as was her wont, gripping the stone balcony of her aerie, reveling in the feelings her drew forth from her depths, the humanity that she drank like blood to a vampire.  
The air grew warm and still.  
She could feel him, see the threads of power. He wanted her, not just her body, though he ached for that. No, Charles ached for her _mind_, her dispassionate control. And her power.  
His hunger was a terrible thing, and for a moment it unnerved her. Playing with such power was like playing with fire. But fire was something she understood, something she controlled. She could ignite the air about him with the faintest flicker of her mind, faster than his telekinetic shield could operate.  
His eyes glimmered in the fading light, and the invisible kneading moving across her like the last flickers of sunlight at dusk. She relaxed, reassured, growing excited my his ministrations.  
Without warning, she spun to face him, eyes rings of power arcing into space, then stopped perfectly still, staring at her ex-mentor.  
He was a handsome man, powerful, rich. He wore his strength like a cloak. He could be her mate – and he wanted to be, mind and body, his desire plain, his erection clearly visible. She licked her lips in anticipation.  
He had never been a father figure to her as he had to Scott. She had known her father, and he had died with all the others of her tribe. They died because of her. No, Charles had always been her friend - her rafiki, her advisor. There was no reason that they should be apart. There was no one to stop her now that Charles had come to her, not even his old mate, once locked away but now free.  
“Come to me, serehangi,” she whispered, both commanding and pleading, the sound crackling on the air like static, and she raised her arms, beckoning.  
Charles look at her, and for a moment, she saw him falter, unsure. But as quickly as it came, it vanished, and the older man rose before her on legs powered by force of will alone. He walked to her, his eyes glittering, never leaving hers. They promised many things – lust, need, hunger. She stood, rooted, as he crossed to her, his mind caressing her in ways she had never dreamt of.  
He stopped before her, within the circle of her arms but not touching her, and leaned in with his mouth. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the rush of his kiss and the fury of his mind.  
But the touch did not come and after a moment, she opened her eyes. He was staring at her hands just off her body, lips millimeters from hers. She watched in incredulity as he smiled, but did not lean in.  
Her anger flared, face contorting frighteningly, and lightning echoed across the sky as it arced overhead. The crack of her hand striking his face sounded in counterpoint.  
He staggered back a moment, but his eyes never left hers, the smile not fading even as the blood trickled from his nose. He straightened, and stood his ground.  
*Good, this isn’t a game,* he whispered in her mind.  
She staggered and groaned as he dumped the lust of a hundred men directly into her mind.  
* * *  
He tasted the copper of blood on his lips, and it made his blood sing. He had never really understood Logan’s memories of the call of lust until just this very second. Experiencing it secondhand just didn’t compare.  
The tenuous connection that he had established with the Goddess flared with power, a power so alien that it stunned him.  
But he _wanted_.  
Something of his own, not borrowed, tangible. And of course there was the power.  
Still smiling, he straightened by fortifying the fields about his legs. Even her terrible anger was beautiful.  
His soul throbbed in time with the lightning blasts overhead, the link providing a hint of what she felt. He opened it a little wider.  
Attraction, lust, want, need. Her primal simplicity producing a primal greed. Honesty.  
*Good, this isn’t a game,* he whispered in her mind.  
He closed the distance between them in an instant, roughly catching her mouth in a ferocious kiss. He forced his tongue between her lips, holding her firmly in grasp. He sent a pulse of the sensations that it was producing in him over the connection.  
He felt her struggle for a moment, but after a second of initial surprise, she relaxed into his grip, and her tongue and lips began to respond to his ministrations. He ran his tongue across his lip before plunging it back into her mouth, adding the tang of copper to the mix of emotion and ozone. She moaned, her hands clutching roughly on his sides.  
He shifted slightly, allowing his straining erection to press up against her thigh, moaning at the contact in a low rumble and releasing another glimpse at his sensations.  
Ororo grabbed his face in one hand his ass in the other, gripping both tightly, hard enough to embed nails in flesh. Electricity crackled. Overwhelmed, he arced back and let loose a shout and the connection opened between them.  
* * *  
The world expanded, energy superimposed over energy… colors, vibrations, textures, music… his Goddess was there with him, and they floated above and within… rocking pulsing. He could feel his body, separate but joined… her body was his… a juxtaposition of completion, a confluence of power. They rode the waves of iridescence, power flushing through them.  
She had jerked him down to her, tongue plunging, teeth nipping, seeking connection. White teeth worried his lower lip. The air about them warmed and grew bright. He caressed her breasts, nipples being aroused, gently tweaked… harder, harder. Screams and moans echoed thought the grounds. My jacket discarded, shirt half torn off, held on only by a shredded silk tie. Bloody streaks in shuddering starts left on my broad back, staining the white cotton. The dress was lifted, panties discarded, fingers expertly plunging in time to my driving tongue. My nipples sought and bitten over and over in waves. My pants undone, round ankles, belt hanging, nothing else in the way. My aching, weeping harness stroked in time over mind stiffened, trembling thighs. The white hot building of need, mine, hers, others… stars connecting, fire spreading, a web of insistent lust. Clearing skies revealing the stars encircled by blood red clouds. Rising. A scream, a shout, penetration. Floating free. Wetness. Faerie fire. Thrusting. Heat. Invisible probing. Flying. Multiplicity. Slamming. Incoherence. Merging. Stars twinkling across a tapestry. Incandescence.  
* * *  
The Goddess awoke to the first light of the sun, lying sprawled over the sleeping form of her mate. He was sated, healthy, powerful. She could still feel him.  
She gently extracted herself from him, straightening what was left of her dress, and unconsciously returning to stone railing. She could feel the sun moving, and she waited patiently, closing her eyes and turning her face to meet the first light of dawn. She was warm for the first time in months.  
She stayed still, enjoying the moment, blocking out that which haunted the fringe of her consciousness, until she could stand it no longer.  
She could feel the chill, out there, waiting for her.

**Author's Note:**

> My Ororo, is Kenyan and speaks Swahili as her primary language. The words she uses are actual Swahili words, defined as follows: rafiki – friend; serehangi – mate.


End file.
